


A Hero's Rescue

by NikaylaSarae



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Drugging (mentioned), Hurt/Comfort, Negative Self Talk, Superhero!AU, Threats of Violence, Villain!Roman - Freeform, death talk, hero!virgil, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaylaSarae/pseuds/NikaylaSarae
Summary: After being defeated in battle, the last thing Roman expects is to have a soaking wet hero show up at his doorstep.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted with minor edits from my Tumblr account @stillebesat.

“Two weeks of work. Wasted!” Roman slashed at the air, his hands taking on a malevolent crimson glow as he pounded at the mound of clay he’d spent the last four hours tracking down and levitating back to his lair because _someone_ had felt the need to totally destroy every single one of his handmade Knightmare Soldiers in the name of the _greater_ good. 

Yeesh. The least that stick in the mud Brainiac could have done would have been to leave some pieces for Roman to recycle. But _nooo_. He had to go and _vaporize_ the entire army with one of his fancy mind beams! 

This was why he couldn’t have nice minions. 

Roman growled, shaping the first of many helmets that he’d then need to spend more energy bringing to life, working the clay with practiced fingers as he fumed. What he wouldn’t have given for his new stormy hero to have shown up instead.

The purple clad clod had a nice strong sense of fair play when it came to their battles and at least when Sparky used his lightning bolts to destroy Roman’s creations, _something_ would be left to salvage afterwards. 

He smirked, finishing the fourth helmet. Yes. The young Thunderclap had truly been a fun change up these past six months from the never ending ferris wheel of predictable boredom the other heroes provided him. Raindrops even snarked back when he came to intervene. That was something Brainiac could never do right. Playful banter went right over that human computer’s head.

_CRACK_

_CRASH_

**INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.**

Roman jerked, cursing as his eighth clay helmet shattered in his hands. Just great! Kick a guy while he’s down. What stupid hero had come to face Roman on his home turf?

“I swear, heroes these days. No boundaries whatsoever.” He growled, banishing the clay shards, his hands losing their red glow as he stalked to the monitors. “I will teach you some--” He blinked. “Sparky?” He mumbled, leaning in to see the white and purple hero stumbling off his lightning bolt to fall to his knees in front of Roman’s mansion, a deluge of rain blurring the monitors a half second later. 

Roman pushed away from the screen gesturing with his hands to quickly create the golden cape, crown, and mask of his Tyrant outfit as he darted to the entryway. He couldn’t imagine what would bring the hero to his doorstep now of all times instead of earlier when Roman’s army had been vaporized before the battle even begun. 

Pocket Protector really had no sense for dramatic tension at all. But he wasn’t bitter. No he wasn’t. 

He threw open the door to his mansion, smirking as he stepped out in gold encrusted boots. “Well. Well. Well.” He crooned, lifting a hand to create a crimson shield over his head so his outfit wouldn’t get soaked in the rain. “A little Waterspout came to visi--”

He trailed off as Sparky hunched his shoulders, lighting fizzling at his fingertips as he dropped them to rest in the mud. “I-I can’t, Tyrant.” He said with a hoarse voice, head bowed.

Roman blinked, taken aback. What was this nonsense? Why was Whirlwind showing such weakness to him by kneeling there? He wasn't supposed to do that until after a major fight where Roman had soundly crushed him. “Can’t what?” He asked, crossing his arms, frowning. If Sparky was going to stop snarking--

The hero shuddered, curling in tighter on himself. “I can’t do this anymore. Be--” he shook his head. “Be a hero.” He whispered. 

The shield over Roman’s head vanished, the rain quickly soaking him to the bone as he gaped at the young man. He’d seen a lot of things during his time taking on heroes. But never this. Never a hero looking as broken as the young Waterspout did right now. 

Roman cautiously moved forward, eyes darting around the space to ensure no one else was around before focusing on the hero himself. 

He frowned, noting the mud and blood marring the brilliant white of Sparky’s now obviously patched costume. Did the kid make the outfit himself? He narrowed his eyes, catching fresh blood on the hero’s skin. Specifically the cuts and scrapes around the purple mask. 

Roman clenched his hands, a hot streak of anger coursing through him. Whoever had fought Sparky last hadn’t been as nice to him as Roman was when it came to going up against the little Rainstorm. He tsked under his breath. There were rules one followed when facing down new heroes. Everyone knew them. Who had the gall to break them now? 

“Why ever not?” Roman asked, working to keep his voice level as he ran through a mental list of potential idiotic candidates to go pay a little visit to. 

Even so, it only appeared to be a minor setback for the Whirlwind. It was nothing that the hero couldn’t overcome. He’d seen it a dozen times before. “You’ve been quite the threat to me and my plans ever since you showed up, Sparky. It’s quite annoying.”

A welcome change, actually. A refreshing breeze in the stagnant air of this city that had finally allowed Roman’s creative juices to flow more freely with the knowledge he’d be dealing with this mudslide of a hero. Unpredictability made this all the more fun when Roman never knew which weather element sparky would throw at him next. 

The hero’s breath hitched in a shaky laugh. “I...I don’t know what I’m doing, Tyrant. I don’t know how to keep fighting. I’m...I’m just going to screw it all up. Le-Let everyone down. F-fail the city. Just like today. Just---I” He cut off with a sob, his violet eyes briefly meeting Roman’s before he bowed his head once more. “Just...just get it over with. K-kill me. Lock me up. Take me out. Whatever you’ve been planning to do this whole time. I--I don’t care. I can’t do this. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t--oomph.” 

_What?!_ His heart plummeted. No. Roman couldn’t take hearing that. Kill him?! His Hero? He moved before he thought, pulling Sparky to his feet and embracing him in a tight hug. Whoever had hurt his Sunshine bad enough to make the kid consider such a thing would soon be facing the Tyrant’s crimson wrath. After he consoled Thunderclap, of course.

Roman gently rocked the shivering hero, listening to sparky’s breath hitching unevenly in his hold. Probably expecting instant death, poor thing. “Hush, my little hero.” He soothed, cautiously running gloved fingers through his dirt strewn hair. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Not today. Maybe not for the next handful of battles either. “You’re safe here. I promise. You won’t get hurt again tonight, alright?” 

The young hero relaxed for a split second before he violently shook his head in Roman’s chest, attempting to pull back as the rain fell harder around them. “Y-you. That’s...not possible.”

“Of course it is!” Roman exclaimed, shaking his now ruined hair out of his eyes. “I’m the Tyrant! _Anything_ is possible for me.” He stated as he carefully, wary of startling the kid into shocking him with a lightning bolt, scooped the purple cloud up bridal style. Using his golden cloak to protect his hero from the storm, Roman turned to walk back inside. Geez. This kid was light. When had he last eaten? Never? “Whatever I proclaim is treated as law. No, ifs, ands or buts about it. Got it? You’re safe here. Believe it, Thunderclap.” 

The hero snorted, wiggling slightly in his arms in response. But instead of trying to break free, he rested his head against Roman’s chest. One hand moved to grip the edge of the Tyrant’s golden cloak, showing Roman a glimpse of his split knuckles. “Okay.” He whispered, darkened eyes closing. Not even attempting to argue. 

Roman pursed his lips, his eyes flashing with a crimson glow along with his hands. Oh yes. Once he calmed his hero down and got him all settled, he was going to find the villain who did this to their brilliant rainbow and toss him into the Grand Canyon with anvils tied to his feet. 

“You look like you’ve just come out of a tsunami.” Roman remarked quietly as he moved inside. The kid was soaked to the bone and trembling like a leaf to boot. “We’re going to get you warmed up and into some clean clothes.” He kicked the door shut behind him, heading upstairs to the main living area of his home, trying not to think about the mud and water dripping off them and ruining his rugs. But it was either dealing with muddy rugs or taking the kid down to his Lair. 

He grimaced. No need to show off his Evil Lair at this moment...or ever. The kid just needed a taste of normalcy at this point. 

“You like hot chocolate?” He continued without giving thunderclap time to speak. “I’ll make some along with a hot bowl of my mother’s special soup. It tastes best on stormy days like this.” Not that the weather had been anything but clear until five minutes ago, but who cared about insignificant details like that? 

“There...there won’t be hallucinogens or sleeping agents in it?” The kid asked, his puffy eyes fluttering as he glanced upwards.

Roman scoffed, briefly considering dropping the brat then and there on the floor. “Rude! Give me some credit, Avalanche. Did your rain-clogged ears not hear that I said you’d be safe here?” 

“Mmmmm.” The hero exhaled, fingers briefly sparking. “Just…” He shivered. “Had to check.”

Roman gave the fingers a wary look, remembering all too well the jolt those things could carry. He shook his head. Choosing to ignore the sparks. “What? Do people often drug your food?”

The flash of fear that crossed the hero’s face was not the reaction he expected. 

“N-no of course not.” He stuttered, going tense in Roman’s arms. 

Most villains didn’t go the drug route with heroes -secret identities kinda made it difficult to. And it wasn’t like battles were sit down affairs with a three-course meal. No, most of the time it only happened by accident in controlling the mass population sort of shenanigans. So unless the hero had already been captured, again unlikely. That meant--Roman pursed his lips, heart dropping as he frowned down at the boy. 

What was going on in this kid’s home life? Even with the mask, he could make out the dark circles under stormy’s eyes. When had he last slept? When had he last eaten? What had driven him to the point of asking Roman to kill him and be done with it? 

In any case. There was no way he’d just let his hero go after that admission. “Alright...I don’t believe you at all, but I’ll drop it.” He clicked his tongue. “However, you can now consider yourself officially kidnapped.” 

The kid jerked in his grip. “WHAT!”

Roman raised an eyebrow, smirking as the hero finally came to life, struggling to get free just as they entered one of his many guest rooms. 

“Hey.” He plopped the boy on the bed, stepping back and spreading his palms in a peaceful gesture. “ _You_ said I could do whatever. _You_ said you were done. Therefore.” He snapped his fingers. A purple pair of pjs shimmering into existence on the end table. “I’ve decided. You’re kidnapped. Take a shower and make yourself comfortable, Whirlwind. I’m not letting you leave for oh...at least forty-eight hours. Got it?” 

The hero slowly sat up in the bed, staring at Roman liked he’d grown three heads.

He smirked. “I’ll assume that means yes.” He said, purposely leaving the bedroom door open as he left. “Bathroom’s behind the door on your right. I’ll see you in the kitchen for soup in half an hour.” 

Roman flared out his cloak, shaking off the water as he stalked back down the hallway. His fingers flashed crimson as he called up one of his spybirds. A confection of leaves and feathers fluttered up to him as he entered the kitchen, his presence triggering his Master Chefs from their sleep state to help him gather ingredients.

“Soup!” Roman gave the simple command to them, pulling a pot from it’s cupboard and setting it on the stove before turning to the dove hovering nearby. “Keep an eye on the Raincloud alright?” He said, softly, stroking it’s feathers, his fingers leaving crimson command streaks in the gaps. “Be his guide.” The mansion was a large place. He didn’t want his little Thunderclap getting lost during his stay. 

He glanced out the rain covered window as the bird flew off. Hopefully two days would give Roman enough time to get to the entire story from his hero, vanquish the demons plaguing him, and get the kid back onto his world saving feet.

“I’ll keep you safe, Sparky.” He muttered, banishing his gloves as he set to work chopping vegetables for his mom’s famous soup. 

The hero could count on him.


	2. Chapter 2

Roman had made his mother’s special soup over a thousand times. To the point where he could do it on pure muscle memory--a feat he discovered after a particularly unrememberable encounter with one of Brainiac’s mind ray beams that he didn’t want to experience ever again. 

Still. Being able to feed himself with his mother’s soup even when his mind was completely blank of conscious thought was a good survival instinct to know he had...despite the circumstances. 

And yet. 

His master chefs had needed to take over the making of the soup halfway through after Roman had nearly sliced open his finger for the second time while dicing the onions because he wasn’t focused on the task at hand. 

Now though, with the main preparation done, he’d sent them back to their slumber, leaving him alone to stir the soup on the stove while keeping an eye on the pot of hot chocolate simmering nearby. At least he hadn’t managed to burn either one...yet. 

He supposed he could be granted a pass for being distracted though.

It wasn’t everyday he, a supervillain, had one of his nemesis’ over for a...well Roman had said kidnapping, but honestly, it was hardly that considering he’d left the kid alone to clean himself up without locking the door or even tying him up.

Roman exhaled, forcing his tense shoulders to relax as he reached up with one hand to check that his mask was still on.

Not that he’d let it or the crown he still wore to vanish. But he had to make sure.

Because he had a hero in his house.

He had a _HERO_ in his _House._

If any of the others ever discovered this--but no. He frowned. _Someone_ had treated the young Thunderclap bad enough that he’d want to--that he’d come to Roman, _no_ , to the _Tyrant_. To be--be---.

He let out another shaky breath, tilting his head to listen for the sounds of running water. For any indication that Whirlwind was still in the house.

For all he knew the young Rainspout had vanished as soon he was sure Roman had left the room. 

Or...he could be sneaking around the place right now. Looking for the Tyrant’s Lair. It could all have been a trick. A trap-- _NO_. Roman growled under his breath.

There had been no mistaking the despondency and then the disbelief in Sparky’s eyes at how he, as Tyrant, was willing to take him in and treat him like a decent person--which Roman honestly needed to figure out how _that_ was gonna go down for the next couple of days having a guest--instead of well...killing him. 

As Tyrant he was a lot of things…but an outright murderer? Hardly. Sure he could easily name a dozen other vile villains who wouldn’t have hesitated. To kill. To injure. To treat a hero, even a new one, like a punching bag. A dozen people Roman would need to _check on_ to ensure they hadn’t mistreated Thunderclap in such a manner. Honestly, it really was a stroke of luck that the young hero had chosen to come to him first instead of--

Roman stiffened, hands going still on the pot as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

_Static Electricity._

Did Sparky realize he gave off that much energy? Probably not.

The soft coo of his dove confirmed that his new...guest? Yah. Guest was probably the best way to think about this. Had finally arrived.

“Fifteen minutes late, Whirlwind.” Roman said, fighting the urge to again check his mask to make sure it hadn’t slipped. “And here I thought heroes were supposed to be on ti--” He turned to the young hero standing awkwardly in the doorway with the dove on his shoulder, and promptly forgot to breathe as he caught sight of Sparky’s face. 

His _maskless_ face. 

Roman jerked his eyes back to the soup, heart hammering in his chest as he gestured with a hand to conjure a simple silk mask, making it the same shade of purple as the pjs he’d created earlier that Sparky now wore. 

He coughed awkwardly, desperately trying to forget all the little details, all the _bruises_ , he’d seen just from the two second glance at the, oh Crofters, he’d known the hero was young, but not a freaking _teenager_! What was he fourteen?!

He’d better have not been fighting a _child_ this entire time. No, Sparky had to be at least eighteen. _Please_ let him be an adult and not a minor. Because if he wasn’t...Roman would have to rethink his fighting strategies against his favorite hero. 

He clenched his jaw. And if... _if_ the kid was actually freaking fourteen years old...then the perpetrator who’d hurt him like this would soon come to regret their actions because there was no way the Tyrant would let them get away with it.

Still looking away, he held out the mask to where he’d seen the hero standing, sending it with a flick of his fingers to hover near him in a crimson bubble. “You uh--forgot something, Thunderclap.” 

Perhaps he should have taken Sparky to a hospital first if he was so addled in the head to forget something so simple as keeping his secret identity intact in front of his enemy. 

There was a soft sigh and a faint tingle as static electricity brushed against Roman’s crimson glow, like a finger poking into the side of a balloon, before the mask was pulled free from his hold. “I didn’t forget.” Came the quiet response as the hero edged closer, pausing by the oak dinner table, using it as a feeble barrier between them. “Figured you wouldn’t let me keep it on long anyways if I’m your…prisoner.”

Prisoner? Roman scoffed, moving to pull cups and bowls out of the cupboard, setting them down on the counter. “Even if I intended you to be a prisoner, Whirlwind, which I don’t by the way even if you are technically kidnapped, because otherwise you’d be in a containment bubble where I wouldn’t be risking getting myself shocked senseless by one of your little lightning bolts. _I_ still have _standards. I_ wouldn’t _unmask_ you like that.” 

“....You wouldn’t?” 

Roman glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noting the mask was definitely still in the kid’s hands as he dished up the soup. “Of course not!” It was hardly fair play. Especially for a new hero. 

As the Tyrant, Roman may have enjoyed his battles with the Waterspout over the past six months, but they definitely weren’t ‘there’ yet when it came to him feeling any sort of victory from finally tearing away the hero’s mask to see the face of his enemy.

The moment he could corner that annoying army zapping Nerdy Wolverine though? _Oh_ , that would be a sweet sweet victory he would savor for at least a year when he finally defeated Brainiac and rightfully discovered his true identity. 

Roman turned, two bowls of soup held in his hands as he carefully kept his eyes directed at the kid’s bare feet, noting that even there the hero had cuts and bruises. He fought back the flare of anger, adding a couple more potential _acquaintances_ he’d need to pay a visit to on his ever growing mental list. “If I wanted to find out who you were, Whirlwind, I would have taken your mask off outside when you were kneeling at my feet in the rain.” 

He took two cautious steps closer to the young Hurricane, watching the feet as they shifted in place. He needed to tread carefully here. Go slow. His hero had been hurt and Roman needed to prove that Sparky was safe with him here. 

He took a breath, holding out both bowls to give the kid the option of choosing one, conscious of how the hero had been concerned that they could be drugged. _Right. Drugged._ Mentally he crossed off six names and added one more. “Beyond the fact that I would very much prefer it to happen after a long hard fought battle where I soundly defeat you, at least _that_ reveal outside would be far more dramatic and rewarding than doing so in my _kitchen_ of all places.” 

Wind whistled in his ears as Waterspout huffed a bitter sounding laugh as he tossed the mask onto the table. “Sorry to disappoint you then. But I’m done.” The lights flickered, the static electricity around them increasing. “Done with this... _hero_ business. I can’t, Tyrant. It’s too much pressure. I’ll just fail.” 

Roman shook his head, frowning as he set the bowls on the table, gesturing with his hand to float the two mugs of hot chocolate by the stove over to them. “You haven’t failed me.” He said lightly, setting them down.

Scare him? Yes. It wasn’t every day that a hero comes to your home out of the blue asking you to kill them. 

Thunderclap snorted, resting his hands on the back of the chair closest to him, his fingers turning white. “Umm. Earlier today?” 

“I know you can’t make _every_ battle, Sparky. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t show.” Roman said with a shrug as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat, pushing the purple mask closer to the kid while fighting to not adjust his own or look at the hero’s face. 

Sure he’d been disappointed. He always was when Thunderclap didn’t come to face him. Their battles were far more exciting, far more _challenging_ compared to the other heroes he’d faced over the years. “You may not want to be a hero right now. But you’re injured. Exhausted. And hopefully hungry because I made you a ton of soup.” He twisted his hand, a soft red glow surrounding his fingers as two golden spoons appeared. He was careful to keep his eyes down away from the kid’s face as he twirled the spoons around his fingers. “After you eat your fill and get a good night's sleep in a big soft bed you might find you’ve changed your mind come morning.”

He could feel the static electricity continuing to build in the room until it felt like every hair on his body was standing on end. It made it difficult to not retaliate and send up a shield of defense against the lightning bolt that could be coming his way any second. 

But the kid had no reason to zap him. At least he hoped he didn’t. He just had to stay calm. Stay relaxed. 

Unexpectedly, the static energy vanished like an iceberg breaking apart leaving goosebumps racing up and down Roman’s arms as Sparky relaxed his grip on the chair. “You’re...not...acting how I expected you to.” 

He smirked. _Good._ The Tyrant couldn’t be just your predictable regular run of the mill bad guy. “Oh?” 

The chair scraped against the tile as Sparky cautiously sat down, his hand resting on the mask. “You...you _care_ far too much about...” He shakily inhaled, the lights flickering above his head as he raised a hand, presumably to scrub at his eyes judging by the movement. “Me. No one ca--but you--and--and you don’t even know who--” 

_No one cares?_ If he wasn’t certain he’d be electrocuted on the spot Roman would have pulled the young hero into another hug then and there. It sure sounded like he desperately needed one. 

“Kindness doesn’t need to be shown a face, Sparky.” Roman said softly, laying the spoons on the table with a quiet clink. “Just because I’m a bad guy...doesn’t mean I’m a _bad_ guy.” 

The kid huffed another shaky laugh. “Did...did you seriously just quote Wreck-it Ralph at me?” 

Roman jerked his head up in surprise. “You know--” 

The hero flinched back, causing the dove on his shoulder to take flight as his violet eyes half hidden by damp bangs flashed with panic while lightning crackled at his fingertips. 

Wait! Face! Gah! Roman twisted in his seat, hissing under his breath, his body tensing with the expectation of getting electrocuted. Great. Of course his love of Disney would come back to bite him at a _delicate_ moment. 

This really would be much easier if the kid would just put on the mask already, so he wouldn’t have to worry--- but Roman wasn’t going to force him to do something he obviously was reluctant to do. Sparky was a guest…even if he was technically kidnapped. 

“I didn’t see anything, Whirlwind” He said as evenly as he could as the dove landed on the counter nearby with a soft coo, his mind racing as he turned his head further to stare at the pot on the stove. “But...judging from your reaction...perhaps you don’t actually want me to know who you are?” 

“I--I--” There was a thunk on the table as the crackling sound coming from the boy faded. “I don’t want to...be a _hero_ right now, Tyrant.” He whispered. “I--I can’t--not now.” 

But the kid couldn’t exactly use his civilian identity in front of the Tyrant either since they were enemies. A pretty pickle. Except Thunderclap seemed to be forgetting one thing. He didn’t have to be either identity.

Roman glanced towards the young hero to see his face buried in his arms, purple mask half hidden underneath them. “Last I checked, Hurricane.” He said quietly. “There’s no rule saying that because you wear purple and white as a hero...that you can only ever wear those colors.” 

It would be a dead giveaway to the villains--for the _smart ones_ at least--if the heroes did that.

Roman gestured, his hands again glowing crimson as he created a dozen more masks similar to the purple one the table, making each one a different color of the rainbow plus some boring shades like black and brown to give Raindrops a variety to choose from.

He turned away from the display as Sparky looked up. “If you don’t want to be a hero then pick a different color mask. You can be anyone you want to be under it. I can even conjure you a different set of pajamas so you can distance yourself further from your hero color scheme while you’re here. Just…” _Don’t give up just yet._ He shrugged. “Pick one.”

Waterspout reached out, hesitantly touching a blue mask, before shifting to hover over a green one. “...It can’t be that easy.” He whispered. “What’s the catch?” 

Roman made a face. “No catch. Pick a mask and then tell me a name to go with it.” He said, watching him from the corner of his eye as the boy lowered his head, his bangs hiding his eyes. “Any name.” He coaxed. “And I’ll call you that instead while you’re here. You won’t have to be a hero. You can just...be my guest.” 

“A guest. To the _Tyrant._ ” Thunderclap said, putting an emphasis on the name.

That--the kid had a point. Roman exhaled. How could Sparky forget he was a Hero if his enemy, the Tyrant, was still around? Which meant...he would need to create his own alter identity as well. 

For the seemingly simple task of taking in a young hero and giving him soup...this whole thing was becoming more and more...complicated.

“No. Not to him. To me. Your host.” He stated, raising a crimson hand to his golden mask, altering it so that it became the same size and shape as the ones on the table, his crown vanishing as Roman made minor alterations to his appearance to keep Whirlwind from guessing his own civilian identity. 

He dropped his hand from the simple red mask he now wore, heart hammering in his chest at how...well naked he felt in the thing as he turned more fully to the kid, once more back in the clothes he’d been wearing while working on recreating his Knightmare Soldiers, careful to keep his attention on the masks on the table and not the hero’s bare face. No wonder Sparky was reluctant to wear this sort of thing. It hardly felt like a disguise at all. 

“You can call me Pryce.” He said, spreading his hands, fighting not to fidget under the weight of Sparky’s eyes boring into him, taking in his changed appearance.

“Pryce?” 

Roman nodded, watching Thunderclap’s hands twitching over his color options. “Yes.” 

It was one name he knew he would answer to that couldn’t immediately be connected back to his own civilian life.  
“You’re serious about this? No heroes...no villains...just…us?” 

“So long as you’re here as my guest. Yes.” If Raindrops needed a break, then Roman would give him it. Anything to keep the kid from doing--from---from repeating--

A soft sigh. “Okay.” Thunder rumbled in the distance as Sparky plucked up a plain black mask, placing it over his eyes. 

Roman blinked. Wait. _Black?_ “Sooo...what? You going all goth on me now, kid?” He asked, slowly turning more fully towards the hero--to his guest as the boy looked up, already visibly relaxing now that Roman could _look_ at him without _seeing_ his identity. 

The corner of his lips twitching in a half smile as Sparky ran a hand through his darker hair, ensuring the bangs still half covered his eyes. “You have a problem with me wearing black?” 

Roman rolled his eyes. He was a villain who wore _gold_ for a reason. Of course he didn’t _like_ black. “Beyond it being such a common, dull, and boring color?” He waved a hand dismissively, vanishing the other masks. “No. Not really.” 

Thunderclap huffed, shaking his head. “Then...you can call me Andy.” He said, reaching for the closest bowl of soup, violet eyes flickering to him to check Roman’s reaction. 

_Andy._

Roman tilted his head. Not a name he would have picked for the hero. But he supposed that was kinda the point. “Andy.” He repeated. “Nice.” Not as nice or creative as Pryce, but he’d save his critiques for the boy’s lack of originality another day. “Is it short for the Mountain range?”

Spar--Andy choked on a laugh, shaking his head as he picked up a spoon. “No--not after--No.” 

“Pity.” Roman said, a more natural smile appearing on his lips as he grabbed his own bowl of soup, purposely getting the spoon to his lips before his guest to prove that the soup was safe. “After the Mints then? I would be more understanding of your emolicious choice in black if that were the case.”

Andy flashed him a smile, eyes sparking. “Only if Pryce is short for _Price Tag_. How much you going for these days? Two bucks?” He asked, taking a cautious sip from his bowl, only to immediately go for another spoonful.

Roman nearly choked on his own soup. _Price Tag? TWO BUCKS?!_ How dare he insult the Tyr-- Gah! Right. Not actively being the bad guy right now. But STILL. The audacity! 

No wonder he loved bantering with this kid.

“You’ll come to find, Hot Topic, that I’m _priceless_. You can’t afford me.”

Andy hummed, nodding like a wise old sage as he picked up the bowl in both hands, tilting it to his lips. “So your name is _Less_ now?”

Roman clicked his tongue, watching the kid gulp down his soup like there was no tomorrow. Okay...he’d walked into that one. “No.” He said, summoning the pot over from the stove, so that the kid could get more if he so desired. 

“Pity.” Andy set the bowl down, glancing to the pot then to him. “Guess I can’t think of you any _Less_ then.” He licked his lips, meeting Roman’s eyes before he could respond. “Not after--well...thanks--for letting me...crash here for a bit...Pryce.” 

Roman blinked, caught off guard at the sudden change in direction. A pity. He’d had a great retort to that earlier remark too. 

He took up the ladle, filling the kid’s bowl once more. “No problem, Peppermint.” He said as he also pushed the mug of hot chocolate closer to the hero, summoning a bag of marshmallows with a twitch of his fingers. He chuckled as the kid’s eyes once again lit up. “Stay as long as you need.”


End file.
